


I'll Still Say It's A Beautiful Life

by OnMyShore



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky's A Part of The Avengers, Domestic, Fluff, I Diverge The Fuck Out Of This Canon, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, brief descriptions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 23:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20786579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnMyShore/pseuds/OnMyShore
Summary: Steve knows Bucky will always be there to put him back together after a mission, even if Bucky has a thing or two to say about it in the process.





	I'll Still Say It's A Beautiful Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MarcellaBianca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca/gifts).

> A very happy birthday to MarcellaBianca! She requested Steve/Bucky domestic fluff and banter, which I was happy to write because these boys deserve nice things, damnit.
> 
> I originally meant for this to be a lead-in to my previous fic "Passing the Torch." It's not, but it takes place in the same handwavey "Things Are Fine Because I Say So" universe that I wish we could all live in forever.
> 
> Title lovingly borrowed from "Beautiful Life" by Charlotte Martin

The lights are off when Steve lets himself into the apartment. It’s late, well past midnight, and the curtains have been drawn tight against the outside world, leaving a velvety darkness within. It’s quiet enough inside that Steve thinks his attempt at sneaking in has been a success. Steve is, of course, mistaken.

He manages to make it all the way down the hallway and into the spare bathroom without switching on a single light, but he doesn’t bother locking the door behind him, which gives Bucky the perfect opportunity to let himself in just as Steve’s gingerly pulling his ruined shirt over his head.

There’s a long gash beginning at his right shoulder blade and ending down near the middle of his back, an ugly wound despite the fact that it’s not as deep as it looks at first glance and already starting to show signs of healing. There are bandages in a small heap at Steve’s feet, suggesting the injury had been dressed haphazardly in Steve’s haste to get home.

Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Steve at least has the good grace to look guilty. Finally, Bucky says, “Are you bleeding?”

A beat. “No.”

“Fuck’s sake, Stevie.” Bucky pushes the rest of the way in as Steve turns to face him. “Let me see.”

“I got it.”

“Turn around and let me take a look, you big baby.”

“I said I’m fine, Buck. It’s already starting to heal, see?”

“It’s not healed yet.” Despite Steve’s protests, Bucky manages to push him back around, and for all his manhandling, his hand is gentle on Steve’s shoulder as he leans in to get a closer look. “Jesus, Steve, what the hell happened?”

“It was a fight, Buck, you know how it goes. It looks worse than it is.” Steve tries to twist over his shoulder to look at him but Bucky pushes his face forward again.

“A chainsaw would have done less damage.”

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“Not from where I’m standing.”

Steve jumps a little when metal fingers graze his shoulder, and Bucky mutters an apology. Steve wasn’t lying when he said it was starting to heal, not exactly; the slapdash bandaging had managed to staunch the worst of the bleeding, and he’s already detecting the telltale itch that means his body is starting to knit itself back together. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t _ hurt_, especially when Bucky prods the inflamed skin around the deepest part of the cut, drawing out a hiss from between Steve’s clenched teeth.

“Thought you said it wasn’t that bad.” Bucky smirks at him in the mirror, but his hands are careful as he shifts Steve to the left to reach the medicine cabinet

“Felt fine before you started poking at it.”

“Mm, sure it did.” Bucky’s pulled out a roll of gauze and some fresh bandages, along with a bottle of peroxide because that’s what their mothers used. “Alright, tough guy, try to hold still.”

“I can manage it myself, Buck,” Steve says, one final attempt at a protest, but Bucky gives him such a withering look that Steve knows he’s lost this time. Instead, he braces his hands on either side of the sink, hissing again at the first sting of peroxide against split skin. Bucky’s ministrations are quick and efficient, which is more of a testament to the number of times they’ve patched each other up than to his actual skillset. Steve lets him work in silence for a minute or two before saying, “Looks like your arm is doing better, at least.”

Bucky grunts in acknowledgment, sparing a quick glare down at the offending appendage. On a mission the week before, Bucky had been attacked with what, to Steve’s knowledge, amounted to a souped-up stun gun, and the electrical pulses had rendered the usually deadly metal arm into so much dead weight (and given Bucky the shock of his life, to boot, and don’t think Steve had taken too kindly to _ that_, either). The resulting damage had been so severe that they’d had to remove the arm completely once they made it back to the Quinjet so it could be repaired in the lab, rather than on his person.

Of course, this meant Bucky had been out of commission when the next assignment had rolled in just a few short days later, a fact that Steve knew had left him feeling deeply resentful. Bucky never enjoyed the fight, but he hated watching Steve walk into it without him even more - especially when it led to scenes like the one tonight, with Steve bleeding all over their too-spacious bathroom while Bucky grimly put him back together.

Steve’s been gone a couple of days. He wonders when Bucky actually got the arm reattached, isn’t sure if he should ask (so he doesn’t).

Bucky replaces the cap on the peroxide bottle and tears open the first of the bandages. They both know Steve’s back will be almost completely healed by morning, but there’s something in the ritual that soothes them both, harkens back to the days when they were actually young, and the worst thing they’d had to deal with was a split lip or a bloody nose after Steve mouthed off to the wrong meathead. It feels familiar, stings in all the right ways.

“We’re done,” Bucky murmurs as places the last of the bandages on Steve’s back. Steve straightens and stretches his shoulders experimentally, feeling the pull of the adhesive. It’s not bad, though; Bucky’s always been good at this.

“So am I gonna live?”

Bucky snorts as he clears up the debris around the sink. “Not if you keep trying to kill yourself like this.”

_That’s a little unfair_, Steve thinks. It’s not like he goes looking for trouble - not anymore, at least, he’s had some time to work that particular impulse out of his system. But they can’t do what they do without expecting to shed a little blood on the way, that's not on him. Being an Avenger takes its own toll.

Steve can’t help the frown, and Bucky catches the expression in the mirror and laughs softly.

“Enough with the face Rogers. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He steps in and hooks his chin over Steve’s shoulder briefly before ducking his head and pressing a kiss to the base of his neck. Steve turns his head in invitation and Bucky’s mouth finds his, soft and unhurried. They kiss slowly, for the sake of it, not a promise of things to come but a reaffirmation that they’re both here now.

As much as Steve would love to stay here like this for the rest of the night, his neck is starting to complain at the awkward angle, and he reluctantly pulls away. Bucky makes a wounded noise deep in his throat, and Steve is so stupidly fond of him in this moment that he thinks it might actually swallow him whole.

“What do you say we go to bed?” he murmurs, Bucky’s hand resting reassuringly heavy on his hip. He’s already thinking about how he can use the injury as an excuse to lay down with his head on Bucky’s chest and Bucky’s fingers in his hair.

“Best idea you’ve had all night,” Bucky replies, giving Steve’s hip a quick squeeze before letting go. He gives a distasteful look at the bandages and tattered T-shirt Steve had dropped on the floor when he’d let himself in. “Gonna clean up your shit first?”

Steve gives him a wounded look. “You’re going to put a dying man to work?”

“Absolutely. That’s your mess, not mine.”

It’s Steve’s turn to snort, and he hears Bucky laughing as he crouches down to gather everything into a pile and gracelessly stuff it into the too-small garbage can.

Bucky is waiting for him just outside the bathroom. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asks, all exaggerated, wide-eyed innocence, and Steve rolls his eyes as he switches off the light behind him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, because he’s suddenly too tired to try and muster up a good comeback, but Bucky just laughs again. Steve’s hand finds that spot between Bucky’s shoulder blades that he knows he likes, and Bucky leans into the touch. Together, they make their way down the hallway, familiar enough to navigate in the dark, towards sanctuary and sheets worn soft. Towards home.


End file.
